Azhriel's eyes slowly blinked open.
The brightness stung for a moment, making him squint. The first thing he noticed was the white ceiling above him—smooth, quiet, and clean.
He was lying under a soft blanket, and the air smelled like medicine and herbs. Everything around him felt still and calm.
He was in the infirmary.
His body didn't hurt in the sharp, stabbing way—it was a dull, deep ache, like every bone and muscle was tired.
His hands were wrapped in bandages, and even breathing felt a little harder than usual.
"So… we survived," he muttered to himself.
Then came the sound of footsteps—soft and steady.
He turned his head slowly.
"Oh, you woke up," said a familiar voice.
It was Sydelle, standing at the doorway with a tray full of fruits. Her long hair was a bit messy, like she had hurried to get here.
There was relief in her eyes as she stepped inside and placed the tray on a table nearby.
